How to Align the Stars

Chapter Seven

Bea

Campus was still dark when Bea pulled her car into one of the spots at the library loading dock, where she’d agreed to pick Ben up. This early, the only students out and about were probably still up from Thursday night. Ben emerged from the back door promptly at six, wearing dark jeans and a charcoal cable knit sweater. Bea was in her tried-and-true conference outfit; a fine-knit blue top, a black skirt that looked tailored but had enough stretch to be comfortable for long hours of sitting, with tights and flat knee-high boots. She’d thrown a hoodie on over everything, which she would trade for a blazer when they got to the conference.

Bea hadn’t seen Ben since the night at the Venerable Grape. She’d been turning that evening over in her head in the weeks since. She was sure he’d seen her, but maybe she was mistaken. Maybe what she’d overheard Charlie and Rob say about his regret and his feelings toward her were misunderstandings. The uncertainty about where she stood with Ben was making her edgy. She’d spent so long at odds with him, the newness of reframing her feelings, even to simply be cordial, had shaken her confidence. Being Ben’s adversary was a familiar, comfortable role but she had no idea how to be his friend. On this trip, she was determined to be breezy and professional, without hinting that for the past two weeks, she’d been overthinking every little interaction with him.

Ben approached the car, and she popped the hatchback for him. There was plenty of room in the cargo area next to her tidy little wheeled suitcase, but he opened the side door to toss his duffle bag into the back seat before sliding into the car.

“Thanks for the ride. Guess it doesn’t make sense for the school to pay for two separate cars to go.”

“Well, duty calls, and I answer,” she said. She hopped out to close the tailgate, glaring at the back of Ben’s head. “At least until I’ve secured my tenure. Besides, we can’t all be morally above car ownership.” Bea’s hybrid got excellent mileage and she walked to campus as much as she could, but Ben always biked or walked, and she’d heard him make a few snarky remarks about faculty who burned gas driving short distances to campus. Especially when here he was, cheerfully letting her consume fossil fuels on his behalf.

“Yeah.” Ben pulled the lever under his seat to scoot back several inches. “Actually, I just can’t afford a car payment on top of my student loans.”

“Oh.” Well, now she felt like an asshole. But why hadn’t he simply said so?

The car was silent as Bea drove them down the empty Main Street. As they passed Mostarda, she was reminded that beyond a few emails they’d exchanged, they hadn’t talked about the conference since their lunch there. “We should probably use this time to discuss our panel strategy.”

“Yes,” Ben said, “but it’s so damn early. Can we swing through The Beanery?”

“Good idea.” She’d had a cup of coffee at home, but with a four-hour drive followed by eight hours of conference schmoozing ahead of them, there was no such thing as too much coffee. She took the turn to lead them to the espresso bar’s drive-through. She expected Ben to order some sort of hipstery pour-over, but he got an iced mocha and a bagel, and insisted on paying for her latte.

Soon they were on the highway headed toward Oregon. When they passed the grange hall, Ben laughed and said, “Remember the barn dance the SODs and Omegas had there sophomore year? Rob threw up on the sofa in the entryway. They still won’t accept bookings from Messiman student groups.”

“I remember. Louise and I were roommates that semester and Rob passed out in my bed. I had to sleep on our chapter room couch.”

“Good times,” Ben said.

“Well”—she pursed her lips—“better for some than for others.” Overall, Bea’d had a fine time in college, but she wasn’t going to let Ben off the hook for making part of her student time at Messiman difficult to bear.

Ben was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “Listen, Bea. I’ve always wanted to talk to you about that cartoon.”

“Nope.” Her tone was sharp and she put up a hand between them to ward off any further discussion. She shouldn’t have alluded to it. It might have been the root of her dislike for him, but her feelings of antipathy had flourished so heartily that she rarely thought about the caricature anymore.

“It’s water under the bridge. If you’ll recall, you did apologize. As you were required to. Forget it. Let’s pretend it never happened.”

Ben made a sound halfway between laughter and indignant sputtering. “It’s obviously not water under the bridge and you have quite clearly not forgotten it happened. You take great pains to remind me you’re holding a grudge every time I see you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. And it’s fine if you hear what I have to say and you still can’t forgive me, but if we’re going to work together, I think you owe it to me to hear me out.”

Bea’s disdainful snort was entirely involuntary, but she turned it into what she hoped was a casual-sounding laugh. “I don’t owe you anything,” she said. In the seat next to her, she could practically feel Ben’s resolve harden, as he twisted in his seat to bore through her with his gaze.

“Fine,” she relented, and Ben faced the windshield again. What could he possibly have to say that might make things better? And was he ever going to say it? “Go,” she snapped.

“Okay, so. I didn’t draw the cartoon.”

“I suppose it materialized out of thin air, then?”

“Do you remember Mike, our social chair? He knew I kind of…had a thing for you. When we had that history class together, I thought you were so funny and charismatic. Like, ‘here is a woman who is going to really take the world by the balls.’ And Mike was a total dick about it because Mike was a total dick about almost everything. When it came out and our advisor said we had to issue a formal apology, I knew Mike would only make things worse. So, I wrote the apology, and I went to your meeting to deliver it. I thought that would hurt less.”

“Oh.” It was all she could say. She’d thought, back then, Ben might have been flirting while they studied together, but after she saw the cartoon, she reframed every single conversation they’d ever had into one where he was mocking her.

She let a half-dozen miles of road unspool in the silence between them before she said, “You were wrong, you know.”

“I know. I was president, I was responsible for the things the other officers did, the whole thing was all my fault. It’s one of the reasons I’m the advisor for the guys now, to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again.” When she didn’t say anything else, he added, “I just wanted you to know the truth about what happened. I always have, but it’s never seemed like quite the right time.”

Bea gunned the engine to pass a row of three semis before she responded. “No. I mean, you were wrong about it hurting less coming from you. I couldn’t have given two shits about Mike’s opinion of me, but I liked you, Ben. I thought we were friends. I was used to guys being jerks about my size by then, but you seemed different. Thinking you would spend all those hours making jokes about Athenian gender politics with me, and then turn around and do something so cruel. That was a whammy because on top of everything else I was mad at myself for misjudging you.”

He ran a hand through his hair and turned away, so when he said, “Well, shit,” it was more to her passenger window and the scrubby hills whizzing past beyond it.

They’d come to the point in their drive where the highway ran parallel to the water, through the Columbia River Gorge. A few stubborn leaves still clung to the trees and the low November sun sparkled on the water. Bea reached for her sunglasses, using the cuff of her hoodie to surreptitiously dab a tear, and said, “Yeah, well.”

He turned away from the window. “So. Just to reiterate. I am sorry.”

She cut her eyes over to him. “I accept your apology. Friends?” She took a hand off the wheel, extending it toward him in an awkward sideways gesture.

He shook it. His hand was cool from holding his iced coffee, and rough, and a shiver zinged through her upper arms at the friction when their fingers slid past each other.

They’d gone through their panel talking points thoroughly by the time Bea pulled off the highway onto the little side road leading toward Multnomah Falls.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I always like to say hello to the falls when I pass. It’s a little bit of a tradition.” Bea had gone to Louise’s house in Portland for school vacations almost as often as she’d gone to see her own parents in the Seattle suburbs. They’d always stopped to crane their necks up to watch the slender torrent of white water rushing down the rock face.

“Not at all. I’d like to stretch my legs.”

The lot was crowded with people trying to catch the last of the leaves on a day without rain. Evergreens flanked the elegant mist drifting off the falls, but golds and oranges of maple and aspen dotted the hillside, not as full as they’d surely been weeks ago, but there were still enough leaves hanging on to provide a color contrast to the deep greens of the pines and mosses. The roar of the water drowned out the voices of other sightseers around them, though the view of the base was never free from the obstruction of people posing for selfies and group shots.

Ben tipped his head back. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Want to take a picture to celebrate our truce?” He gestured at the queue with their phones out and ready.

She started to laugh as she turned to give a sarcastic answer but stopped short when she saw his expression. He looked completely sincere, no trace of the mockery she would have expected from him. Maybe she’d made more than one misjudgment of Ben Addison. Fine, one selfie wouldn’t hurt.

They waited a few minutes in the crowd jockeying for a prime position in front of the plunge basin. Bea leaned in next to Ben as he held his phone at arm’s length, keeping her hands in the pockets of her hoodie while he put an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer into the frame. The contact wasn’t especially intimate, but the assured grip of his fingers on her upper arm and the warmth between their bodies made her realize how little, these days, she touched other people or allowed them to touch her. Obviously, that was why this felt strange and a little thrilling; it was only a novelty.

“Hey, take one with mine.” Louise needed to see this. Bea handed Ben her phone. Right when he snapped the shot, a growl issued from his stomach loud enough to be heard over the roar of the falls. In the resulting picture, Bea’s head was turned toward him with an expression of surprise, and Ben’s mouth was open in the beginning of a laugh. They broke apart, erupting into hysterics driven more by the need to break the tension of the morning than Ben’s rumbling stomach.

“Um, so,” Bea said as soon as she had recovered, “are you hungry?” This set off another burst of laughter from both of them, drawing some curious stares and annoyed looks from the tourists around them. Right. They were disrupting the peaceful communion with nature and selfie sticks. She collected herself and checked the time. “We could get a bite here. We’ve made good time. I bet they’re still serving breakfast at the lodge.”

“That sounds good.”

As they walked toward the little stone lodge set beside the base of the falls, Bea texted the photo to Louise with the caption:

“It’s been a weird morning.”

As they were talking to the hostess, her phone buzzed several times, but she didn’t look at it until they were in the lobby waiting for their table. It was a text message from Louise, with Heron added to the chain, and it said “OMG I can’t believe it worked!” Then: “Shit shit shit.”

Then, after a moment, “Bea, honey, that message was meant for someone else. Texting while pumping, lol. Cute picture! There must be a story there and I can’t wait to hear it. I have NO IDEA how that would have come about.”

“Would you excuse me for a minute?” she said to Ben, then walked outside and dialed Louise’s desk extension, knowing she might not pick up her personal cell but would always answer her work phone.

“Talk,” she said when her friend picked up. Bea paced back and forth in front of the stone steps leading into the inn as Louise disgorged the details of Heron’s little scheme, the explanation peppered with apologetic assurances about it being all in good fun and because they cared about her.

When the call was over, Bea wasn’t sure whether she was more angry or humiliated. She was half-tempted not to tell Ben—wouldn’t it be easier to simply pretend the whole thing had never happened? But they seemed to have reached an accord in the car, and she had the nagging feeling withholding this information would be against the terms. When she went back inside, she found Ben at a table in front of a large stone fireplace, stirring cream into a cup of coffee. A steaming mug waited at her spot.

“I went out on a limb.” He grinned, looking pleased with himself.

“Good call. So, I have quite a story to tell you.”

“Those little shits,” he said, when she was done filling him in on her conversation with Louise. “Heron and Charlie had me trapped in the book repair room for an hour and a half after I overheard them talking about you.”

“Oh? What did they say?”

A rosy flush appeared on Ben’s neck, creeping from the collar of his sweater all the way up to his jawline. He took a sip of his coffee. Stalling, Bea thought.

“How about a deal,” he said, “I don’t tell you what they said about you, you don’t tell me what they said about me.”

It sounded great, since Bea was pretty sure, even after their frank talk this morning, she might die of humiliation if she had to tell Ben about skulking behind the trellis to eavesdrop on Heron and Charlie, or how what she heard them say had affected her.

“Deal.”

Sitting across a table from Ben felt different from sitting next to him in the car. More intimate, even though they were farther apart. She’d been thinking all morning about their conversation, and she couldn’t ignore the fact that the air wasn’t quite clear between them yet.

“Listen,” she said, “I think I owe you an apology, too.”

Ben’s brows knit together. “You didn’t do anything you need to apologize for.”

“Not back then, no. But I haven’t exactly been fair to you in the meantime. It was just…Okay, so everything was exactly the way I wanted it—I worked my ass off to get my PhD in six years, the job at Messiman fell into place, and everything was great until the one person who could make me feel more like an awkward outcast than an astrophysics badass showed up. And, well, it made me kind of bitchy—” Ben started to interject, but she stopped him. “Let me finish. Please. I realize you didn’t have any intention of making me feel that way. I probably always knew it. But it was easier to take it out on you than to be tough with myself about my insecurities, and that wasn’t right. I’m sorry.” She exhaled deeply when she finished, feeling the stone that had been sitting in her chest lift away.

“Wow. First of all, thank you, and it’s fine, apology accepted, but I can’t honestly say I’m totally innocent. I think I was hoping we could get the rapport we had before the cartoon back. We used to tease each other a lot, remember?”

She nodded, recalling the good-natured ribbing they’d engaged in when they studied together. She’d been telling herself for years she’d mistaken it for flirtation.

“You…didn’t seem receptive to a sincere conversation,” Ben tactfully understated. “So, I couldn’t really think of another way to interact and for a while it was pretty satisfying to get a rise out of you, but lately it’s stopped being fun.”

“Dang, Ben.”

He chuckled. “I have four sisters. Button-pushing is my love language.”

While Bea was laughing, the server came with their breakfasts. She picked up her water glass and tipped it toward him, nodding up at the view of the falls to their left, where the cascade tumbled under a footbridge with a few hardy hikers crossing it. “Truly. Water under the bridge.” They clinked glasses.

Their panel was a success. They were paired with two professors from the state university, a political scientist and a historian. Bea spoke about the prompt for her own assignment on stargazing in antiquity and gave some examples of her guest lecture topics for classes in other disciplines, and Ben spoke more broadly about the intersections between research and critical thinking skills.

When the political scientist interrupted Bea’s point about the through line from Galileo’s defense of heliocentrism in front of the Inquisition, to challenges to science from conservative politicians, Ben reclaimed control of the conversation and returned the ball to her court.

“I believe that’s what my colleague was saying,” he said, friendly but firm. “There has always been ideological tension between science and religion. Correct, Dr. Hayes?”

“Yes,” she’d said. She was used to this kind of showboating and didn’t need Ben to come to her rescue, but it was nice to have an assist from a teammate. “It may be a little more nuanced now than it was in the seventeenth century, but I draw a direct line for students between Renaissance astronomers’ conflicts with the Inquisition and today’s struggles to get funding for things like maintaining our observatories. Although, fortunately, the National Science Foundation doesn’t use thumbscrews.”

As the room laughed, Ben caught Bea’s eye and winked.

After the panel, they went their separate ways, each taking the opportunity to network with acquaintances in their own disciplines at the requisite rubber chicken, hotel ballroom dinner on Friday night. Bea rolled her eyes at Ben holding court at a table of giggling female librarians in novelty-print dresses and statement eyewear, but it felt more like the friendly ribbing of their early student days.

Bea spent most of Saturday in sessions focused on STEM disciplines, which meant she didn’t see Ben again until she bumped into him at the coffee station during the final afternoon break.

“I was thinking about catching a movie tonight. Something with as many explosions and as little discussion of ‘re-envisioning the pedagogical paradigm’ as possible,” he said. “You in?”

“That sounds great, actually.” After two days of intense discussions with other academics, sitting in a ridiculous action movie without having to talk to anyone sounded like a delight. “Unfortunately, I have plans already.”

“Of course you do. It was foolish of me to assume you wouldn’t be busy.”

It felt strange not to assume she heard sarcasm in Ben’s voice. She hated to admit she preferred him a little snarky, just as she preferred him with a five o’clock shadow.

“Ask around. I’m sure you can find someone who wants to go.”

“Ha.” Ben barked a laugh that drew a disapproving look from a tweedy gentleman examining the tea selection. “They’ll probably toss me out of here if I ask the wrong person whether they enjoy The Rock’s later works. I don’t mind going alone.”

Bea had balked at telling him what her evening plans were, still used to shielding herself from his mockery, but maybe if he’d go to a movie alone, he wouldn’t think it so strange. “Actually, my plans are a reservation for one at Aspen. I do this sometimes when I travel for work, kind of…take myself out on a little date. I know it’s silly.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she felt like she had to get the admission in before he inserted a barb. “But I like exploring new places and doing something a little different and fancy. They always have those bulletin boards where you can find a dinner partner, but then you end up making awkward small talk all night and honestly, I prefer my own company.”

As she spoke, his eyebrows had been gradually rising. Probably, she told herself, because he couldn’t believe what a pathetic dork she was.

He said, “That’s rad, I love it. And Aspen is supposed to be amazing. Enjoy your evening, Bea.”

Once, against all her better judgement, Bea had bungee jumped off a bridge near Arecibo. It’d seemed like a once in a lifetime opportunity was presenting itself and she’d known she would be furious at herself later if she didn’t take the plunge. As she stood at the edge, her heart pounding and her body pricked with nervous sweat, she knew she would only find the courage to step off if she pretended someone had pushed her. So she did. And as she flew above the ravine, all the fear and doubt had melted away in the sheer exhilaration of being unmoored from gravity as she merged with the sky.

Bea picked up a napkin and placed it between her sweaty palm and her coffee cup, then said in what she hoped was a this-just-seems-practical tone, “Do you want to come? I’m sure I can call and change my reservation.”

A grin broke across Ben’s face. “I’d love to.”

“Great. We should leave the hotel at seven.”

Bea felt a little dizzy as she walked back to the ballroom for the final half of her session on “Diversified Assessment Methods.” Probably too much coffee. She shifted her thoughts toward hybrid essay and multiple-choice testing.

Back in her hotel room, the blue velvet dress just hung there in the closet, twinkling at her. Bea had packed the dress with her dinner alone in mind. She’d never worn anything like this before and wanted a sort of test drive, to see how she felt in it out where other people could see her. People she didn’t know and would never see again. But now, Ben was tagging along, and it would probably be more comfortable to stay in the businesslike, professorial top and skirt she’d worn to the conference. She tidied her hair, added a little smoky shadow to her eyelids, and was standing in her bra, boots, and tights, flicking her gaze back and forth between the blue dress and her taupe oxford shirt when Ben rapped on her door. It was seven already. The only thing worse than overdressing would be to seem like she spent so long primping she couldn’t be ready at the appointed time.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, and threw the dress over her head. No reason to change her plans because Ben was coming along, right? The cool velvet slipped over her body like a magic spell, feeling as good as the day she’d tried it on at the wedding show. She didn’t have time to examine herself in front of the mirror, fretting about how the dress drew attention to her body in a way she wasn’t used to or comfortable with before inevitably tearing it off and putting the safe shell of her familiar clothes back on. So, she didn’t look in the mirror at all. She ran a hand down to make sure the velvet lay smooth—at least it felt good—and reached for the door.

The second she turned the knob, she regretted the dress. Ben was definitely going to think she was trying too hard to make this seem like some sort of date, instead of simply her, being herself, wearing the outfit she’d intended all along for a nice evening out. When she opened it, she saw his eyes widen and braced herself for the inevitable comment. She just wasn’t sure whether it would be a joke, or if, more unbearably, he would try to say something nice.

Instead, he took his phone out of his pocket and said, “Should I get us a car?”

Bullet dodged. “It’s only half a mile. I thought we could walk if that’s okay with you.” Her boots were comfortable, and it was a nice evening.

“Sounds great. Lead the way.”

The meal was a seven-plate tasting menu. The second course, a “deconstructed panzanella,” consisted of four tiny cubes arranged on the plate. Ben said, “I’m not sure whether to eat this or build something with it.”

Bea smiled and took a sip of the accompanying wine-pairing, a woodsy chardonnay. But when the next course, gnocchi with peas and fresh mozzarella pearls, appeared and everything on the plate was spherical, they both laughed out loud.

“I can’t wait to see how they turn the steak into tetrahedrons,” Bea said, through giggles.

Noteworthy plating aside, the food was delectable, and the wines complemented it perfectly. They didn’t talk about much else until they were finished with dessert (pyramids of passionfruit mousse) and lingering over coffee. The warm, lazy feeling Bea felt from the food and wine gave her a little extra courage to ask about something that had been perplexing her. “I’m glad we’re friends now,” she said, “I would have enjoyed this on my own, but it was a lot more fun with company.”

“Me too.” A corner of Ben’s mouth quirked into a half-smile.

“I thought we got along pretty well when we got into planning for the panel, didn’t we?”

“Sure.”

She fiddled with the handle of her cappuccino cup. “Okay, I’m just going to ask. I saw you at music night at the Grape last week, and I was pretty sure you saw me. I thought you might come over to say hello and was a bit puzzled when you didn’t.” With uncharacteristic vulnerability, she added, “It made me feel like you were fine being friendly with me when we were alone, but not where your buddies could see.”

She hated how this made her sound, like an insecure girl in middle school. But, despite the effort she put into the shell of being confident and together, sometimes she did still feel that way. If they were going to be friends, they needed a truly clean slate.

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hell, Bea. I felt weird about that, too. I was with my poker buddies. Thursday night is usually our game, but the kid who played that night is one of my work study students.”

Ah yes, the earnest young man with the earnest guitar.

“He’s a sweet kid, I wanted to support him. So, I talked the guys into going to the Grape instead of our game, and they, uh, weren’t on their best behavior. They were already giving me shit about the music and I didn’t want to…expose you to that, especially given our history. I wasn’t really sure you’d want to talk to me and figured you could’ve come over if you wanted to, although I was kind of glad you didn’t.”

“I see.”

“Saying all that out loud sounds pretty bad. I was trying to spare your feelings, not hurt them further.” He stared down into his coffee cup as he said this, then looked up, catching her eyes with his, asking for understanding.

She could tell Ben was sincere, and she could see where he was coming from, but it still stung. She felt pinned down by the eye contact.

“Well,” she said, setting her cup back in its saucer harder than she intended to, splashing a little milk onto the table, “I guess it’s at least nice to know you’re not too embarrassed to be seen associating with me in places where nobody you know will see us.”

Bea knew the bitterness in her words wasn’t fair. She was sabotaging the conversation, not giving him the benefit of the doubt he’d been promised. But she also was eager to be safely alone again. She wondered how long it would take to get a rideshare and whether she would have to let him in the car with her. Would it be too mean to leave him to find his own way back to the hotel? She’d perhaps had enough bald honesty for one night.

From the look on his face, she might as well have slapped him. “My god, Bea, that’s not it at all. It’s just that most of those guys do nothing but complain about their wives. I’ve been single the whole time we’ve had this game going, and they all talk about how great I have it. I wouldn’t want to talk to any woman I was interested in around them. It has nothing to do with who you are. Besides”—he was visibly frustrated now, raking a hand through his hair—“you’ve always looked good to me. I guess I can understand why you’d have trouble hearing that, given the Mikes of the world, but I hope you believe me. It was true fifteen years ago, and it’s true now.”

If Bea’d had too much honesty before, now she was wondering if it was possible to actually expire from too much disclosure of things best left unspoken. Her heart had begun to pound hard, and she wondered if Ben could see it moving beneath her breast. With her napkin, she dabbed at some of the coffee she’d spilled on the tablecloth, trying to figure out how to respond.

Ben beat her to it. He reached across to put his hand over hers, resting it there lightly as if he didn’t want to scare her. “I sure hope you’re taking me seriously, because that dress is making me lose my mind.”

Um. What? When she looked up and met his eyes, he seemed completely sincere and a little nervous, as if he had no idea how she was going to react to what he’d said.

“Oh.” Too much, this was all too much. Bea rarely indulged in honesty with herself about Ben, but—well, because when she did, she had to acknowledge she’d been wild about him in college and still found him attractive in a way that was irritating to no end. Irritating because she thought he’d never return the feeling, though. Irritating because he wasn’t a real option for her. But now here he was, right in front of her, being an option, and what the hell was she supposed to do about that? Deflect, obviously. Make a joke. Quick.

“This old thing? I just threw it on.” She laughed and after a split-second of hesitation, he joined her. It felt good to break the tension, but as the laughter faded it came right back along with something new; the urge to see what it felt like to touch him and have him touch her.

When their car came, Ben opened her door, placing a hand lightly on the small of her back to guide her as she climbed in. She felt his thumb swoop in a tiny circle, as if he couldn’t quite resist the luxe feel of the fabric, or of her beneath it, and heat rushed through her body. In the backseat of the car, she let her hand rest on the seat between them and his found it, his thumb tracing the same circular pattern on the soft skin of the back of her hand. During the short ride, they didn’t speak, eyes straight ahead as if looking directly at the fragile thing happening between them might break it.

Ben took her hand again when they got out of the car, but the bar in the lobby of their hotel was filled with people from the conference, and she hastily pulled away. They hurried in tandem toward the elevator like children trying to get away with something. The elderly professor who’d been so absorbed with the tea selection in the afternoon boarded with them, and they finally made eye contact over his head as the three of them rode upward. The muted, string-section whine of the instrumental music was the only sound in the excruciatingly slow elevator. Bea stifled an ecstatic giggle, heart thumping. The gentleman wished them a good evening with a tip of his hat as he exited on the third floor. Bea didn’t even let the elevator doors slide shut all the way before she reached for Ben. Then his hands were everywhere on the velvet, his lips on her neck, then her jaw, then her own lips as she buried her fingers in his hair to bring him where she wanted him.

“Holy shit, Bea,” he murmured when he caught his breath.

So, this was a thing that was actually happening. Even as she was absorbed entirely by the physical reality of Ben, there was a tiny piece of herself watching from the distance, triumphant and bemused. She took his hand and pulled him off the elevator at their floor, down the hall to her room. Behind her, his hands ran over her hips, and he nuzzled the back of her neck. It took her three tries to get the door open because she kept pulling the keycard out of the reader too quickly, but finally they were in her room, the door closed behind them, and she was lifting his shirt to run her fingers over the skin underneath. He pulled it over his head, and they parted long enough for Bea to bend down to unzip her boots and step out of them. Ben’s chest was pale, sprinkled with a dusting of dark hair, and his stomach had a touch of the softness to be expected from someone who spent most of his time bent over books, but his shoulders and biceps had rugged heft. She was already exceedingly familiar with the fine contour of muscle under the tawnier skin of his wrists and forearms, having been annoyed to find herself appreciating it on a number of previous occasions.

His hands found her hips again, inching the material of her dress upward as he murmured, “Okay?”

Feeling herself at a precipice again, she nodded and raised her arms so he could lift it over her head, then drew him toward the warm, newly exposed skin.

After a moment, she nudged him away, keenly aware that the way the waistband of her tights dug into the soft flesh around her middle was not the most flattering look for her. At least she had on nice underwear and her best black bra. “Avert your gaze,” she said, in a way she hoped sounded carefree, then added “please,” hoping he’d understand.

He rolled his eyes but obliged, turning around as she shimmied out of her tights. Once they were off, she pressed herself against his back, feeling his jeans rough against her bare legs and pressing her lips to the fox tattoo on his shoulder blade. He turned and yanked her into a kiss. She felt herself hurtling toward the edge of the cliff.

Ben stepped back and looked at her for a long time. A disconcertingly long time. She found herself resisting the urge to grab for her dress or the bedspread, make a dash for the light switch. But she felt a challenge in his gaze and met it, setting her shoulders back and remaining still. And, okay, holding her stomach muscles in because a gal could only confront so many insecurities in one evening.

Finally, Ben spoke, “Bea,” he said, his eyes boring into hers in a way that made her feel much more vulnerable than she had when they were on her body, “you are so lovely.”

“You don’t have to say that, you know,” she said with a little chuckle, picking her dress up off the floor and folding it into a tidy square. “I have many excellent qualities, but beauty isn’t one of them.”

“Why would you say that?” Ben sounded hurt, like she’d insulted him rather than herself.

“Western beauty standards, feedback from dates, sizes typically stocked by clothing retailers, men who like to yell things from pickup trucks…the opinions of most people, really.” She’d ticked these off on her fingers; he seized her hand and kissed the base of her palm in a gesture which would have made her laugh if he didn’t look so fucking earnest.

“Most people are idiots. I thought you knew that.”

She knit her brow into sarcastic wonder, and said, “I do.” The irony struck her—how ridiculous it was of her to dismiss so many opinions of others and take pride in following her own star—except when it came to an assessment of her appearance. Suddenly, this seemed totally, ridiculously, hilarious and she burst into laughter, forgetting to suck in her stomach.

And then they were both laughing again, and then they were on each other again, and then the rest of their clothes were on the floor, and she was all skin, cool against the white sheets and heated against Ben’s, and her nerve endings sprung to life under his fingertips as she flew into the abyss, and she wasn’t alone.

Bea dropped right into sleep but woke up sometime in the hours after midnight when she rolled over with a leg outstretched—something she was accustomed to doing from years of having a bed to herself—and her foot made contact with a hairy male leg. She winced on Ben’s behalf and whispered “sorry,” but he didn’t stir. She rolled to her other side and tried to focus on going back to sleep, but suddenly she was keenly aware of the soft sound of his breathing and…was that also what the tickle on the back of her neck was? She pulled the covers up around her shoulders and Ben shifted, jarring the mattress, bringing sharp awareness to his motion and hers. Every time one of them moved, the other would feel it.

Finally, she gave up and slid out of bed. She fumbled around in her bag for her e-reader, pajama bottoms, and hoodie, then curled up in the armchair by the window. From here, she could see the lights of the city and the shivery glimmer of the river under a moon that was waxing gibbous, but still too far to the east to be seen. Maybe Ben would wake up and she could ask him to go back to his own room so they could both get some sleep for their drive in the morning, but the modest illumination from the digital page didn’t make a dent in the darkness of the room.

Five chapters later, she was finally exhausted enough to feel her eyelids grow irresistibly heavy. She crawled back into bed as the plump moon hung over the western horizon and the river began to lighten with the first pearly hints of dawn.

She woke up to a day-bright room and a soft hand on her shoulder. Ben crouched in front of her, dressed. “Hey,” he said, “I’m going back to my room to shower and get my stuff packed up, and I’ll meet you back here to go down to breakfast.”

“Mmmparay,” she said.

“Um,” there was mirth in Ben’s voice, “would you like me to bring you some coffee?”

Capable of articulate speech now, she flopped onto her back and said, “Hell yes,” then added, “please.”

“I’d kiss you,” he said, “but I really need to brush my teeth. The situation is dire.”

She chuckled. “It’s fine. Me too. See you in a bit.”

Although she woke easily when there was something interesting to see in the night sky, getting out of bed in the morning was always a struggle for Bea. This one was particularly special in its awfulness. As she wrestled herself out of the covers and staggered to the bathroom, she felt like Frankenstein’s monster. Correction: Frankenstein’s monster after an eventful weekend in Amsterdam. She winced at the bright lights around the white-tiled vanity, and again as the hot water of the shower reminded her of the previous evening’s physical exertions.

It took longer than usual, and three-quarters of the extremely large cup of coffee Ben handed her through the cracked hotel room door, but eventually she was reasonably alert and presentable. She slogged her way through the conference’s wrap-up breakfast feeling like she was merely impersonating a respectable academic. Ben wasn’t helping; every time their eyes met, the corners of his mouth twitched in a small private smile, reminding her they were on the same wavelength. When the final speaker’s comments included the word “engorge,” Bea had the misfortune of making eye contact with Ben. The almost-imperceptible lift of his eyebrow had her reaching for her water to cover a fit of giggles.

Yet, all morning her mind was a jumble, gingerly prodding the question of how all this would be between them once they returned to their normal lives. After all, she was rather fond of her normal life the way it was. This was the worst possible time to upend it, with her final tenure dossier due in a couple of weeks, Heron’s last year at Messiman, and that damned wedding. In ten days, she’d be spending Thanksgiving with her parents in Florida. She cringed, thinking about having to choose between truthfully saying, “No, mom, I’m not seeing anyone,” and telling her parents about Ben.

Being with Ben felt good but Bea wasn’t sure it felt right, whether they were on the same wavelength or not. Things had changed between them with breakneck speed, and it was too much for now. Maybe too much ever—how could it possibly result in anything other than catastrophe? She hoped he felt the same way, and they could walk themselves back from the brink.

As they drove east, the silence in the car was companionable this time rather than awkward. Bea hated to ruin it, but she didn’t feel like she had a choice. They needed clarity and closure in place before they got back to Millet.

As if he anticipated her need, Ben gave her an opening. When they got to the stretch of highway skirting the river, he said, “At the risk of making a tremendous understatement, that was an unexpectedly nice weekend.”

“It was…” she let her voice trail off.

“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

“I’m sensing a butt,” she stalled, resorting to juvenilia. Ben laughed, but didn’t say anything more, waiting for her to answer in earnest. “It’s just that it was zero to sixty pretty fast. Maybe we should pump the brakes a little? Consider last night a gimme?” She felt his eyes on her and shot a glance in his direction to see how he was receiving this, but his expression—or at least the quick snapshot of it she’d been able to get without taking her eyes off the road for too long—was inscrutable.

“Like, what happens in Portland stays in Portland?”

“Exactly.” After a mile of silence, she added, “Listen, I have a lot going on and I’m sure you do, too. I don’t want you to feel like you have any sort of antiquated idea of, well, owing me something.”

“Do you feel like you have to give me an out?” His voice was incredulous, with a barbed edge she couldn’t place on the spectrum between teasing and genuine annoyance.

“No!” Yes.

“Well, I can assure you I would be delighted to repeat any aspect of this weekend, from sitting across from you over breakfast, to a dinner date, to spending the night, whenever you have the time and inclination.”

“Oh.” Bea drove on in silence for several miles, eventually switching her blinker on to turn into a rest stop. Without saying anything else, they separated into the restrooms.

When she came out, he was looking out at the bluff over the river, dry grass blowing at his feet in the cold wind. He turned around as she approached.

“Listen. I think maybe we both need an out,” she said. “I had a great time too, but this all happened so fast, and I can’t wrap my head around what it would look like going forward. For fuck’s sake, Ben, two days ago we were barely civil colleagues. I need time to figure that out and frankly, I need time to decide whether it’s something I even want.”

His brow dropped into a scowl, and she couldn’t tell whether he was putting it on for a joke or if he was truly hurt.

She continued, “Not you specifically—please don’t take that personally. It’s about me. Whether I want to add that element to my life.”

He looked out over the gorge, then back at her, squinting. “I get it, I think. You’re not sure you’re ready to be somebody’s girlfriend?”

“Right.” Thank goodness he understood (also, “girlfriend?”). “So, when we get back to Millet, can we start over? Friends.”

“Sure. Friends.” He drew the word out as if he were giving her a chance to take it back.

And she did, a little, amending to, “Friends with potential? Maybe we could take things really, really slowly.”

“I can do that,” he said. “But,” he stepped closer, and in the sunlight she could see the little flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, “we aren’t back in Millet yet.” Keeping his hands in his pockets, he bent down and brushed his lips across hers.

She didn’t realize she was leaning toward him until he pulled away, causing her to stumble toward the guard rail.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, “potential.”

Ben turned and marched back to the car, giving her an impenetrable look before he dropped into the seat.

Bea followed and took her place behind the wheel. They drove the rest of the way in silence pierced occasionally by excruciatingly polite chit-chat.

When she dropped him off an hour later in front of his apartment building, he said, “Thank you very much for driving. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday,” as if they were merely colleagues between whom nothing noteworthy had ever occurred.

That was it? Taking this all quite literally then, was he? Fine. Great. If what she got out of this weekend was one night of definitely above-average sex and a cordial working relationship with Ben, she could live with that. In fact, it was probably the best possible outcome. At least she didn’t have to devote so much of her mental energy to avoiding him anymore. Or…wait. Did she? Ben had agreed to put the brakes on pretty easily. Maybe too easily. Was this post-fling version of Ben about to become an even bigger pain in her ass than he’d been before?

“You’re welcome. I guess I’ll be seeing you around campus. I mean, we’re work friends now, right?”

“Sure we are,” Ben said. As he closed the car door, he added, so quietly she wasn’t completely sure she heard him correctly, “…potentially.”